A Second Glance
by S. Faith
Summary: Standing up for someone in an impossibly embarrassing situation says a lot about a person. Movie universe, with cut-out bits from the script stuffed back in. Mark's POV.


**A Second Glance  
**

By S. Faith, © 2009

Words: 2,005  
Rating: T / PG-13  
Summary: Standing up for someone in an impossibly embarrassing situation says a lot about a person.  
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Wish were. Could use the royalty checks about now.  
Notes: Most people don't realize that in the shooting script for _Bridget Jones' Diary_, as Bridget's walking to the book launch, she sees Jeremy arm in arm with a young woman who is _not_ his wife Magda. Later on, the 'smug married' dinner scene was originally intended to be an anniversary dinner for Magda and Jeremy. This is inspired by said 'smug married' scene, takes the dialogue out of the movie, but incorporates the cut portions of the scene. I think the scene would have been a little more meaningful if they'd left it as it was.  
As always, thank you, my dear Carly.

* * *

The whole thing seemed a ludicrous sham, this so-called wedding anniversary dinner. As they took their assigned seats at the table, Mark looked around himself; the gaping hole at the head of the table where Jeremy should have been yawed uncomfortably open. Mark was all too sure of the reason for Jeremy's tardiness; sure that it was not work, as he'd likely told his wife, because Jeremy had left the office before Mark had. Mark was also very sure that everyone else at that table knew why Jeremy was late.

Strangely enough, the seat at the foot of the table was still empty. He wondered who else was late.

There was a low murmur of conversation as people settled in, served themselves food, poured the wine, and made small talk to fill the silence. As Mark and the other couples around him tucked into dinner, the doorbell rang. Smiling brightly, Magda rose from the table. "That's Bea. I'll just get that, so carry on, enjoy yourself. Be right back."

The moment Magda was out of earshot, that murmur of conversation turned to quiet speculation (and outright certainty) as to where Jeremy really was. "Poor thing," said Natasha quietly from her place to his left, cutting a portion of dinner off to eat. "Smiling through her embarrassment."

"She must not know," said Alistair in a hushed voice. "Seriously, would she still be having this party if she knew?" His wife Henrietta carried on eating, either not hearing or choosing not to hear her husband's comment.

"Enough," said Mark. "Footsteps."

He had in fact heard footsteps on the staircase from the lower floor, but it served to get everyone off of a subject not really suitable for this dinner party, and one that made him distinctly ill at ease. Thankfully everyone immediately either stopped speaking or switched conversational gears back towards the more mundane.

"Right. Everyone." Mark turned at that moment as Magda said this, entering with her friend. "This is Bridget. Bridge, this is Hugo and Jane. And, obviously, you know, of course Cosmo and Woney…"

As Magda continued with introductions and shifted out of the way, it was only then that he could see her friend Bridget clearly. Mark's surprise was unmatched as he realised it was the same Pam-and-Colin's-daughter-Bridget he'd first met at New Year's, and had only seen earlier that day on television at the Lewisham fire station. She was paying absolutely no attention to him, too busy with meeting everyone else. Magda finished up introductions.

"…and Jeremy's partners from chambers. This is Natasha Glenville and Mark Darcy."

"Hi there," said Bridget, looking right at him, finally seeing him, and looking as surprised as he had been.

"Hello," Mark said in return.

Natasha piped up with, "Not in your bunny girl outfit today?"

With a stiff smile, Bridget said, "No. We bunnies only wear our tails on very special occasions."

Mark was equally surprised that she had turned up alone, and wondered where Daniel might have been. Magda suggested Bridget take her seat, which she did, and started to serve herself. Almost immediately, Cosmo bludgeoned in with, "Hey, Bridge, how's your love life?"

Tentatively she began, "Oh…"

"Still going out with that publishing chappie?" Cosmo pressed.

Mark looked up, curious to hear her answer, startled at his own interest.

"Uh, no," she said awkwardly, shooting a quick yet inexplicable glance in Mark's direction. "No."

Knowing Daniel as he did, knowing what he knew of Bridget (which admittedly was not much more than what he had observed firsthand and what his mother had told him, and frankly he trusted his own firsthand observations more between the two), he immediately suspected Daniel had hurt her in some way, that their breakup likely had something to do with Daniel's inability to commit to one woman at a time. As interested he was in knowing more, he was not about to ask. It was, after all, none of his business.

Cosmo, however, seemed to have other ideas. Oblivious to the discomfort he was causing her, Cosmo added, "Never dip your nib in the office ink." Woney, his very pregnant wife, tittered in amusement.

"Right," Bridget replied hesitantly.

Mark returned his gaze to his plate, hoping Cosmo would soon get off the subject. He did not.

"You really ought to hurry up and get sprogged up, you know, old girl? Time's a-running out. Tick-tock."

"Yes, yes," said Bridget, sounding thoughtful. "Uh, tell me, is it one in four marriages that ends in divorce now or one in three?"

"One in three," interjected Mark, surprising not only himself, but Bridget, who looked to him just as he looked to her again.

At that moment, Jeremy came blustering in. "Sorry, I'm late, darling, everyone." He bent to kiss his wife's cheek. "Work, work, work." It did not escape Mark's attention that Jeremy's and Bridget's eyes locked momentarily before Jeremy added, taking his own seat, "Eat on, eat on."

Cosmo, proving himself to be quite the windbag, carried on, not letting the subject die a timely death. "Seriously, though. Offices full of single girls in their thirties, fine physical specimens, but they just can't seem to hold down a chap."

"Yes," agreed Woney. Stroking her distended belly in an almost triumphant fashion, she then asked, "Why is it there are so many unmarried women in their thirties these days, Bridget?"

Mark set his flatware down, his eyes on Bridget; in fact, everyone stopped what they were doing, all fourteen of them, waiting for her reply.

She smiled then chuckled nervously. "Oh, I don't know," she began. "Suppose it doesn't help that underneath our clothes our entire bodies are covered in scales."

A polite but uncomfortable laugh circled around the table. Mark, however, didn't like leaving her hanging like that on her own, and spoke up. "Yes, for my part, I wonder if it actually doesn't make sense to wait."

"Quite right," said Natasha. "No use just coupling willy-nilly. It seems to me that a good marriage is like a well-planned merger." Natasha glanced at Mark as she said it. "Both parties bring something to the table, both negotiate, both make little concessions—and what emerges is more than the sum of the parts…"

She was diverting the intention of his words off-track. "Yes—no—you're right, Natasha," he said, "but I suppose what I mean is…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "We tend to think we're failures… unless we rush headlong into marriage. Perhaps if we, you know, _waited_—found out what we really wanted—there might not be two lives in ruins… so often. As we lawyers find."

Dead silence. He was afraid he'd made things worse.

The ringing of silverware on a wineglass broke that silence; Alistair spoke up. "Jeremy and Magda. Ten years. Well done. Brilliant."

Two or three of the assembled called for a speech. Under such scrutiny, Jeremy could hardly refuse.

"Thank you, Alistair," he said, "thanks everybody, thanks for coming. Yes. Well. Ten years. I don't think any of us realise what a major step it is when we do it—committing your whole life to just one person." He glanced over to his wife with a loving look, putting his hand over hers.

"Yes, it is scary," Magda replied, "but you have to take that big risk." Slowly, she withdrew her hand from his; a feeling of foreboding washed over Mark. "You have to offer yourself up to… to whatever comes or, you know, what's the point of being in the world? And there are times when you just think Christ… this was all a terrible, terrible mistake…"

A palpable uneasiness settled over the room as Mark understood at once: Magda _did_ know.

Magda went on. "Then a child comes into the room, and you feel this great rush of love just as you're clearing up some sick, or wiping a bottom, or something, and you think: this extraordinarily beautiful creature, we made him together, we did that… And you can forgive and forget all the other things… which aren't quite right…" Magda stopped just then, touching her fingers to Jeremy's hand, trying to prop up the flagging spirit of the room.

"To Jeremy and Magda," came a strong voice, a woman's voice, Bridget's voice; Mark turned to see Bridget looking squarely at Magda, holding her wineglass aloft. "My beautiful friend. Thank _God_ you are married… because if you were still single, nobody would ever give plain girls like me a second glance." There was a beat; Bridget smirked impishly. "Bitch…"

After a moment's pause, Magda smiled, then laughed. As she did, everyone else began to laugh too, and with that, the tension broke, the dark clouds parted.

Conversation went back to its more temperate peaks and lulls, with lots of genuine laughter; Mark was silent, lost in his own thoughts, pondering what he had just witnessed, what Bridget had done to stick up for her friend as well as the subtle chastising she had done of Jeremy. It was a very altruistic, brave thing to do considering the inquisition she'd been put through about her love life by Cosmo, and tacitly approved via silence by the others. Mark considered (in what he believed to be an unbiased opinion) how much the opposite of plain she was, as evidenced in the previously referenced bunny girl outfit, the book launch dress… and even that night in an ordinary dark red jumper.

He also considered the very real possibility that she actually believed she was plain, evident in the unassuming manner in which she comported herself, the ease at which she laughed in response to a joke, her all around genuineness…. He thought of the women he knew (like the one who'd accompanied him) who were constantly monitoring the reactions and attention of people around them to ensure they were being noticed. Bridget was not one of those pretentious women.

Mark was roped into conversation with Natasha and Jeremy, talking work, but all he really wanted to do was strike up a conversation with Bridget. Whenever there was an out in the conversation, she was chatting with someone else, to the point where he suspected she was snubbing him altogether. After his treatment of her at New Year's, at the book launch, and every encounter they'd had so far, he hardly would have faulted her for doing so.

He vowed to talk to her after dinner, regardless of her attitude towards him. He tried not to think too much about what he would say, which inevitably caused him to wonder why speaking to her mattered to him so much on this night, at this time. Perhaps it was that he felt she was a kindred spirit, deep down; there was an edge of discomfiture in her behaviour that mirrored his own, even though she was clearly more easily adaptable to social situations than he was.

Dinner was over all too quickly and Magda invited everyone into another room for coffee and dessert; Mark thought he might have his chance at last. However, as everyone rose from the table, Bridget went over to Jeremy and Magda. In the way Bridget pecked Jeremy's cheek, gave Magda a big hug, it seemed apparent that she was bidding them goodnight. Leaving the party.

He watched as she disappeared from the room. After a moment's thought, he decided he was going to follow her, talk to her anyway. Evading the ever watchful eye of his companion for the evening—whom he was certain would frown disapprovingly at his attempting to befriend Bridget—he edged his way towards the door and slipped out. As he descended the stairs, he saw her getting into her coat.

He cleared his throat, then began to speak.

What he said wasn't particularly brilliant, didn't rank amongst the greatest speeches ever given, but despite the awkward, rocky beginning, he was fairly sure he had gotten his point across, especially after seeing the stunned look on her face. She knew now that he didn't dislike her. Rather the opposite was true. With no conditions.

_The end._


End file.
